


maybe i'd give you my world

by thimble



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Timelines, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-27 01:41:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1710353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thimble/pseuds/thimble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three timelines, two people, one confession.</p>
            </blockquote>





	maybe i'd give you my world

**Author's Note:**

> crossposted from tumblr.

* * *

 

**i. the one where he waited too long**

  
  
It's been ten years since high school, and he meets Kise at the wedding of someone they both used to know. (Vaguely, he wonders if the same criteria applies to each other, but the thought seems wrong, somehow—  
  
—a patch of the sky painted a different shade of blue.)  
  
"I thought you'd be the first to land a girl," he says as they wait for the bride to walk the aisle.  
  
"I thought the same about you, Aominecchi," Kise replies, smile a little sharp, like he means maybe we didn't know each other at all.  
  
At the reception they're assigned to the same table, though Kise spends most of the night catching up with old friends; Aomine does the same, because he's not to be outplayed. When the room begins to empty out Kise's back where he started, slumped against his side. It was a Western-style ceremony so they're both in formal suits, with Kise in clean and stylish lines, and Aomine's not quite tailored to fit.  
  
"You should wear your bowtie correctly," Kise whispers to his shoulder, slurring for effect. He reaches up to brush his fingertips along Aomine's throat, makes him swallow on impulse. He'd only seen Kise's glass filled with nothing stronger than cider the entire night.  
  
"You wanna get out of here?" he asks, hoping he read the signs right. Kise blinks and his eyes are lucid as suspected, maybe just a touch relieved.  
  
"I thought you'd never ask."  
  
  
  
  


 

**ii. the one where it could've gone either way**

  
  
He spots Kise in a Tokyo airport five years after graduation, his hair dyed a paler, platinum blond. It suits him, though it's not as if he needs help standing out from a crowd; even the harsh lights are kind to his complexion, never mind that they always were.  
  
It doesn't take long for Kise to spot him too, and he shakes off the fans and the posse before walking over. For a split second he thinks that Kise might kiss him on the cheek—that's what models in Paris or wherever do, right?—until Kise goes for a standard embrace.  
  
He gets a whiff of expensive cologne, and finds that he doesn't mind the greeting at all.  
  
"Aominecchi!" Kise pulls back to take a better look at him. Not that there's much to look at, but hey. "You got taller!"  
  
"And you're loud as ever." He smirks, and Kise counters with a theatrical pout.  
  
"Still so mean. Do you wanna have coffee? What time's your flight?"  
  
In forty-five, he says, silently grateful that he actually finished packing the previous night and gathered enough bearing to arrive early. "Yeah, sure. But you're paying," he adds, even if they can both afford it.  
  
Kise fills up the conversation with ease, chattering about various modelling and acting gigs, the places he got to see. He's enthusiastic but not narcissistic, because he doesn't forget to shift focus on Aomine, conveniently letting his own stories run out. "I see you on TV sometimes! How are you still so good at basketball, Aominecchi?"  
  
He rolls his eyes and leans back on his chair to hide the twitch of his lip, the pride he felt his eyes betray. "Wouldn't have a job if I wasn't, idiot." He should return the compliment, sort of, but what comes out is, "your damn single plays everywhere I go. It drives me nuts."  
  
Kise only laughs and opens his mouth to reply when it's announced over the speakers that it's finally time to board. Aomine stands and Kise follows, touching his arm. It's a cause for both celebration and despair that he's wearing long sleeves, else his skin would've sizzled at the contact.  
  
"Give me your email?" Kise says, as if he needs coaxing. "I'll send you a message as soon as I can."  
  
"Of course you will." He grins, secretly—or not so secretly—glad that Kise asked what he'd been afraid to. "You never did know when to shut up."  
  
  
  
  


 

**iii. the one where he didn't wait at all**

  
  
They're almost done with third year, and like the idiots they are they're playing one on one instead of studying for the upcoming exams. It can't be helped; their final Winter Cup is over and behind them, and the lack of competition in the horizon leaves a hole where it once was. Maybe it's something only the six of them can understand.  
  
Something aches in his chest when he thinks that this might be it for them, the end of an era that only high school basketball fanatics will remember, but he's grown accustomed to ignoring aches like that over the years. Anyway, there's another thing that's weighing heavier on his mind, something more present and important than whispers of being a legend, once.  
  
He glances beside him where Kise's drinking water, panting and tired like he is but with his eyeliner still immaculate. It's now or never.  
  
"Oi, Satsuki told me something." That's a lie, actually; she's been telling him for years, and he's been brushing her off like a complete moron, even though she's never been wrong before. He's never had to address it, with the chances of rejection stacked high against him, but doing it now means that he won't have to live with the consequences for too long.  
  
Kise looks at him, and the thought of never seeing him again makes Aomine feel sick. "Mm? Momocchi?"  
  
"Yeah. She said that you like..." It sounds so vulnerable, put in those terms, so he fumbles around for a substitute. "She said that you're into me. That true?"  
  
He wouldn't have seen it if he didn't know Kise so well: the brief panic that flashes across his face before he rearranges his features into careful incredulity, honey-brown eyes wide, jaw slack in mock surprise.  
  
"Of course I like you, Aominecchi! Why wouldn't—"  
  
"Kise," Aomine says, so he'd cut it out. "You know what I meant."  
  
The facade drops immediately, as Kise's eyes turn wary even while his mouth curves into a defeated smile. "Yeah, sorry," he says simply, with a shrug that doesn't quite make it into noncommittal. "I'm working on getting over it."  
  
"Don't."  
  
Kise blinks. "What?"  
  
"Don't get over it," he breathes, demanding and selfish and arrogant and all the other words people used to describe him. It's a warning as much as it is an admission; get out, get out while you can. But Kise doesn't take the bait.  
  
Instead his smile warms, and his palm settles on Aomine's cheek. "Okay." There's a bead of sweat on his upper lip that Aomine wants to lick off.  
  
(God, does he want to.)


End file.
